


close your eyes (give into the night)

by rainbowsandgucci



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood Kink, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Dom Richie Tozier, Dom/sub, Fix-It, Fluff, Fuck Stephen King, M/M, Murder, NOBODY DIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, Sub Eddie Kaspbrak, They're Murderers Yes, Top Richie Tozier, but i promise its all done with love, dark themes, fuck pennywise, what a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 04:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21247661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowsandgucci/pseuds/rainbowsandgucci
Summary: Sometimes, late at night when he can’t sleep—usually because for some reason he can’t be at Eddie’s—he remembers how it felt to face It.He’s sure the others had felt it too, the triumph from watching the damn thing crawl into it’s hole in the ground like a kicked dog. The adrenaline he’d felt after realizing they’dbeat it, for now, anyway.In that moment, he’d felt six feet tall and unstoppable.Heknowsthe others had felt that way too, knows it in his bones in the same way he knows a lot of things about his fellow Losers.





	close your eyes (give into the night)

**Author's Note:**

> so. i watched it chapter 2 when it came out and like it made me sad, so my brain was like "what if. what IF the losers' bond was just a teenie tiny bit more twisted and bc of that they didnt forget each other? what if that little bit of a twist was a little dark and their encounter with pennywise made them all so desperate to protect each other that they literally started murdering people?" and i was like 'damn brain u have a point. lets do it' and now here we are! just havin a laugh :)
> 
> also on an unrelated note top dom richie rights

_1990_

Somehow, the Losers have lived to see another summer.

They’re a little jaded now, sure, and less keen to be outside after dark than their peers, but they’re _alive,_ and at the end of the day, that’s really all that matters.

Bev is back from Portland for the entire summer, and though Richie’s not entirely sure how she managed to convince her aunt to let it happen, he’s sure as _fuck_ glad that she did. The Losers Club just isn’t the same without her, isn’t _whole_ without her.

A perk to Bev being home, is Richie now has someone to smoke with. 

Currently, they’re lying in the grass in Richie’s backyard, staring up at the slowly appearing stars. For once, they’re both unconcerned about the impending nightfall, and, really, it’s nice.

Eventually though, Bev sighs. “I have dreams.” She says it softly, carefully, almost like she forces herself to, then takes a drag. The smoke, when she releases it from her lungs, swirls up and up and up, until Richie’s just staring at the stars again.

“What kind of dreams?” He asks, somehow knowing she won’t go on without encouragement. 

She’s quiet for a moment and takes another drag, shallower this time. “I’ve watched every single one of you die every night since...” she trails off, and Richie sighs. 

“Since It.”

She nods, he hears it in the grass underneath her head, then breathes out a soft, “yeah.” 

They’re quiet for a long time afterwards, both of them smoking until their fingers are burning from the short sticks between their fingers.

Richie relishes in the pain, the burn. It reminds him that he’s alive, reminds him that he’s here, that Bev is, and their friends are alive and whole.

Reminds him that just a few minutes away, there’s a certain someone that’s going to cuss him out vehemently even as he treats the burns. Is going to yell at him for even touching the damn things (for the billionth time), and even as he’s annoying as _shit _about it, all Richie will be able to do is think about how much he loves the sound of his voice, and how he doesn’t want to go a day without hearing it in his entire life.

Finally, what Bev has said really sinks in, and Richie thinks about it. Really thinks about losing his friends. His _family_.

He sits up, lets the cigarette butt fall to the ground, and stomps on it to put it out. Then, he looks at Bev, still laid out in the grass, looking absolutely lost, and suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with determination. 

“That’s not gonna happen Bev.”

She laughs, though it’s just a huff through her nose, and turns her head just slightly to give him a judgemental look. “Right. And you’re going to stop that _how_, Trashmouth?”

Richie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t let his eyes leave hers. Doesn’t let his resolve waver. “I mean it. No one’s going to hurt any of you. Never again. I’ll kill anyone that does.”

As he says the words, he feels an odd sense of calmness wash over him. He knows, without a doubt in his mind, that they’re true. He means it. The seven of them are best friends, they’re family, theyre meant to _be_, and not a single thing, demonic killer fucking clown or otherwise, is going to take that from them. 

Something in his eyes must tell Bev just how serious he is, because she sits up, eyebrows furrowed, and clutches at the sleeve of his shirt. “Hey, same goes for you,” she says earnestly. “We’ll kill anything that hurts you too, Rich. No question about it.”

Richie blinks, then nods. “Promise?”

Bev grins, then, and holds up her pinky. “Promise.”

-

_1993_

The thing is, when Richie had said he’d kill anyone who hurts his friends, he meant it. He may have been fourteen, and not really sure of anything, but he was completely serious.

Sometimes, late at night when he can’t sleep—usually because for some reason he can’t be at Eddie’s—he remembers how it felt to face It.

He’s sure the others had felt it too, the triumph from watching the damn thing crawl into it’s hole in the ground like a kicked dog. The adrenaline he’d felt after realizing they’d _beat it_, for now, anyway. 

In that moment, he’d felt six feet tall and unstoppable.

He _knows_ the others had felt that way too, knows it in his bones in the same way he knows a lot of things about his fellow Losers, but it’s not until the year he turns seventeen that anything comes of it.

It’s May, the weather is finally starting to warm up a bit, and Richie and Bill are smoking behind an abandoned building in town, because Bev’s not coming to visit until July, and Bill’s recently taken up the habit as well, due to his parents’ sudden and annoying need to hound him about _college_ and _planning for his future_ anytime he’s home longer than an hour. For once in his life, Richie’s glad his parents don’t care enough to notice he’s alive very often.

They’ve been sitting there for a while now, just sitting and taking in the peacefulness that surrounds them. Eventually, though, Richie reaches into his jacket (it’s leather, way too hot for summer and way too big on him, but the way Eddie had looked at him the first time he’d worn it way back in December was enough to make him determined to never take it off) for another cigarette, and gestures towards Bill. “You want another?”

Bill shakes his head, and holds up the one in his hand. It’s only half gone, and Richie huffs out a laugh. Sometimes he forgets that Bill’s not quite as gone on the stupid things as he or Bev are.

He lights up, and after the first drag, rests his head back on the brick wall behind him.

“Hey Rich?”

Richie hums, and turns his head to look at Bill as he rests his arm on a raised knee, the fingers holding his cigarette hanging limp as he does. “What’s up Big Bill?”

Bill looks considering for a moment, then, “Have you seen Stan since yesterday?”

Richie’s eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. “No don’t think so, ‘s he okay?”

Bill’s lips purse momentarily. “Some fucker cornered him yesterday on his way home from school. Called him some awful shit and fucked him up too.” 

With a groan, Richie rests his head back against the wall behind him again. “Jesus. And here I thought we were all gonna go our last year without any bullshit.”

Bill snorts, and brings his cigarette up to his mouth again. “You’re telling me. We’re so fucking close to graduation too.”

Richie laughs, and shakes his head bitterly. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Bill sighs. They’re quiet, then Bill clears his throat. “I want to take care of it.”

Richie stares at him. “Take care of it.”

Bill nods, holding Richie’s gaze. “Yes. We’ve...I talked to B-Bev on the phone last night about it, and she said you’d understand. I...f-fuck Rich, we’ve killed a demon killer clown for fuck’s sake, what’s a high school bully?”

Richie laughs, disbelieving. “Are you serious?” Even as he asks, he knows the answer. Bill only stutters these days when he’s particularly worked up.

“He hurt Stan, Richie.”

Richie nods. “He did.” He bites at his lower lip, then takes a drag from his almost-forgotten cigarette. “We gotta tell the others, make sure they’re all okay with it. If any of them object we figure something else out, okay?”

Bill agrees, easily, and, well.

That’s that.

-

None of the Losers object.

-

Preparations take a couple weeks, but in the end, it’s easier than it should be to make someone disappear.

The guy puts up a fight at first. He’s stocky, and built pretty well, but Richie’s recently had another growth spurt and isn’t a complete wimp thank you very much, and Bill’s lifted weights for a couple years now, so really, he doesn’t stand a chance.

Once he realizes who’s grabbed him, he tries to laugh it off. The Losers _are_ the Losers after all, even if they’re left alone more often than not nowadays. Then Richie pulls out his knife, and he starts to beg. Pleads and promises not to say shit if they just let him go.

Bill just laughs in his face, and asks if he’d listened to Stan when _he’d _begged to be left alone. He doesn’t get an answer, and the look on the guy’s face is one of someone who’s just realized they’re doomed.

Richie would feel bad, especially once he starts crying, but the mental image of Stan’s bruised face is at the forefront of his mind, and instead, as they toss the bloodied body into the well at Neibolt, he laughs.

When Bill gives him a confused look, Richie shrugs. “It’s a little bit ironic, don’t you think? Dumping him here.”

Bill laughs then, too, and throws his arm around Richie’s shoulders as they leave the house.

It’s dark outside, they’re both drenched in blood—something Richie is positive they’ll learn to lessen with more practice—and for the first time since It, neither of them feels the need to frantically look over their shoulders as they walk down the street.

They clean up at Richie’s place, since his parents are both gone for the night, and then head over to Stan’s, where the rest of the Losers (sadly sans Bev) are waiting anxiously.

There’s something to be said, Richie thinks, about the way Eddie searches him out as soon as he’s in the room. His eyes are wide, his bottom lip red and irritated like it always gets when he’s been biting it nervously, and Richie’s got this _feeling_, in his bones and in his fingertips, that’s making him itch to reach out and _touch_.

The others are focused on Bill—like they so often are—but the adrenaline from the kill is still very present, making Richie feel restless like a few strong cups of coffee do, so he walks over to the couch in the corner of the room, walks over to _Eddie_, because suddenly he feels like if he can’t touch him he might die. As he approaches, Eddie’s legs part, just enough for Richie to stand between them, and then he’s in Eddie’s space, looking down at him and feeling an odd sort of triumph from the way Eddie’s looking _up_ at him.

There’s a little bit of awe in his eyes, and Richie can’t help but grin as he brings a hand up to Eddie’s face. He rests it on his cheek, thumbs at his lower lip. Eddie sighs, then one of his hands comes up to grip the hem of Richie’s shirt. 

“You really...you did it?” His voice is soft, sweet, and it’s _everything_.

Richie nods. “Sure did Eds, all taken care of.”

The usual response, _don’t call me that_, doesn’t come, and instead, Eddie sucks in a shuddery breath. “Good.”

Richie smiles then, softer than he usually does, and rubs his thumb against Eddie’s cheek gently. “Eddie I—” 

“Hey, you two!” 

Richie whips his head around, feeling more than a little annoyed when he makes eye contact with Mike, who’s standing in the middle of the stairway. “What?”

Mike’s eyebrows go up, and he gives Richie an unimpressed look. “We’re upstairs calling Bev, get your asses up here, and quit looking at me like that, jesus, Rich.” He shakes his head, then heads back upstairs. Richie watches him go, then turns back to Eddie, only realizing right then that his hand is now resting possessively on the back of Eddie’s neck. 

He’s about to apologize, maybe move his hand away and try to play it off like some kind of _joke_, but then he looks at Eddie’s face. Eddie’s still staring up at him, cheeks pink, breathing slightly harder than normal, and well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Eddie licks his lips—_jesus_—and blinks slowly up at Richie. “Richie?”

Richie’s burning, from the inside out, but he pulls in a shaky breath, and slides his hand off of Eddie slowly, reluctantly, then holds it out for Eddie to take. “Come on, we better get up there before Bill sends Ben down to give us puppy eyes.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, sticks his lower lip out into a pout, and Richie wants to scream. He looks like he’s going to protest for a moment, then a loud _thud_ sounds from upstairs, and his eyes flicker to the stairway briefly, before settling back on Richie. He sighs, then nods as he grabs Richie’s hand and lets him pull him up.

Richie guides Eddie up the stairs with a hand on his lower back, and doesn’t let him leave his side for the rest of the night. It’s not like Eddie tries, anyway, and Richie’s perfectly content to stay like this; his friends nearby (most of them anyway), and his favorite boy sleeping under his arm as a movie plays in the background.

-

After the first time, it’s incredibly easy to continue killing. Much like all of the other little ways the Losers take care of each other, it becomes second nature, something they don’t have to think about before deciding to do it.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the Losers to get involved in the actual killing, what with none of them being able to go very long without being the butt of some cruel joke, taunting, or beating. Perks of being the outcasts, Richie supposes.

Bev is the first one that Bill and Richie bring along on one of their escapades, because some unfortunate sap had decide to target Ben just days after she’d gotten back to Derry. She’d stormed into the clubhouse a couple hours later, _fuming_ and had told them she didn’t care whether they all agreed or not, the asshole was dead.

In the moment, looking at Ben’s obvious heart eyes and the rest of the Losers’ fondness for even an obviously enraged Beverly, Richie had felt a rush of affection so strong he didn’t know what to do with himself. So, he’d draped himself across Bill’s shoulders—having to lean down to do so because _jesus_ Bill wasn’t growing—and pretended to tear up.

“Oh Big Bill, darling, they grow up so _fast_, don’t they?”

Bill snickers, and pats Richie’s hand as he nods. “They sure do Rich, should we get her a gift?”

Richie gasps, “Bill you’re a genius! We could go to that new store that opened downtown, the one with the aisle in the back that sells dil—”

“Beep fucking _beep_ Richie!” Bev’s laughing, along with the rest of the Losers, and Richie holds the hand up that’s not around Bill’s shoulders in surrender. 

“Alright alright Marsh, no gifts then, have it your way.”

Bev just shakes her head, turning to face Mike when he pipes up about plans for their next kill. As they talk, Richie pulls away from Bill, and makes his way over to Eddie, who’s sitting in the hammock, which has become their official-unofficial spot in the clubhouse.

He looks up from the book he’s reading and glares at Richie as he nears, and Richie throws a grin back at him as he flops down onto the hammock. 

“What’s the matter Eds? You’re looking grumpier than normal, are you jealous?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, his legs automatically moving to the side to make room for Richie. “Jesus, _no_ I’m not, fuck you Trashmouth.” He looks back at his book briefly, then looks back up, his brows furrowed. “And _don’t _fucking call me that.” 

Richie raises his eyebrows, a grin settling on his face as he rests his hand on Eddie’s leg. “Aw Spaghetti don’t worry, I still think you’re cuter than Bill.”

Eddie kicks lightly at Richie’s hip. “Shut the fuck _up,_ oh my god.”

His cheeks are _pink_, and Richie smirks, ready to _tease_, but before he can, something hits the back of his head. He turns to see who threw it, as Eddie yells out an offended “_hey!_” from behind him. 

Stan’s sitting across from them, a smug smile on his face. “If you two are fucking done, we’re planning a murder over here.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Yes sir, Stanley, sir.” He salutes lazily, then turns back to Eddie. Eddie’s still looking at him, and Richie gives him a little smile. He squeezes his leg—because yeah, his hand is back on Eddie’s leg—gently. “I got Jurassic Park today, if you want I could come over later and bring it along.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up. “Are you bringing any snacks?”

Richie scoffs. “Of _course_, we all know I’m the only snack your mom keeps around.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut up Richie.”

Richie just grins, and they finally turn their attention back to the rest of the Losers, who, as it turns out, aren’t actually discussing anything of importance.

Go figure.

-

They wind up killing the guy a week later, even though Bev had been ready to do it that night. It comes quickly enough though, and, just like Richie had suspected she would, Bev takes to murder like she was born to do it. 

It’s _fun_, killing with Bev, like it is with Bill but now there’s _another_ person to share the feeling with. Another person to taunt with and _laugh_ with, as Richie cracks incredibly morbid jokes at the expense of the person tied up in front of them.

When they’re done; clothing less bloody than it was after Richie and Bill’s first time but still not quite clean enough for public viewing, they head back to Richie’s place. They take turns showering as Bill calls Stan to update him, throw their clothing in a garbage bag, then stay awake another few hours watching TV, getting high and falling over themselves with laughter.

They finally fall asleep around five, camped out on Richie’s bedroom floor with candy wrappers and pillows everywhere.

-

In the morning, Bev leaves for Ben’s, promising to bring him and s’more ingredients to Bill’s later on to burn their clothing from the night before. Richie laughs until he’s red in the face when she mentions s’mores.

Fuck he loves that girl.

They don’t have anywhere to be, so he and Bill spend the rest of the day hanging out at Richie’s playing Atari and drinking the beer Richie’s dad luckily doesn’t keep track of. They’re only interrupted once around two, when Eddie comes over, but Richie had been expecting that anyway, so when he wanders into Richie’s bedroom, there’s already an open spot for him next to Richie on the bed, and an unopened bottle of rosé chilling in the minifridge, because Richie knows he likes that more than he’ll ever like beer.

Does it matter that, unlike his dad, Richie’s mom will _definitely_ notice that one of her bottles of wine is missing?

When Eddie smiles like he does when he sees the bottle, Richie decides that nah, it doesn’t matter at all.

-

June turns into July turns into August, and besides a couple of minor incidents that only result in killings because they’re _bored_, nothing really happens.

Then, the last week of August rolls around.

Richie’s just left work—he’d gotten a job working at a warehouse in town a few weeks before, and while his boss is kind of a jerk, it pays pretty well and he’s positive by Christmas he’ll have some actual tone to his muscles from all the lifting—and is heading to Stan’s to hang out for one of the last times before Stan leaves for college the next week.

He’s distracted, thinking about Stan (and Bill) _leaving_, so he doesn’t notice Benjamin Sutland and his gang of dickwads until they’re in front of him.

Richie’s not entirely sure what all happens, but he’s called some names—typical—while a few fists meet his face, and it’s only thanks to his _years_ of practice that he manages to break away before they get him on the ground. As he ducks down an alleyway and fucking bolts, he realizes they’d been in front of the arcade, of all places.

Yes, he realizes the irony, and _fuck _that stupid fucking clown.

He runs most of the way to Stan’s place, only slowing down once he’s _positive_ he’s not being followed, and by the time he’s walking in the back door, he at least doesn’t feel like he’s just run a marathon. His face hurts though, actually, like a _motherfucker_.

When Stan sees him, his mouth drops open. “Jesus _christ_ Richie, what happened?”

Richie grimaces. Okay, so it looks as bad as it feels then. He shrugs. “Wow Stan, way to make a man feel loved.”

The joke falls flat, and Stan just glares at him, as he crosses the room to stand by him, and inspect his injuries, his fingers careful even as they prod at one of the cuts on his cheek. “Rich…”

Richie rolls his eyes, even as he flinches, and pushes his way past Stan and over to the window. “Fuck, I’m _fine_ Stan, just gotta take a shower and I’ll be good as new.” He pushes the window open, sits on the sill, and pulls out a cigarette.

As he lights up, he fully realizes just how fucking tired he is, and as he takes the first drag, shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back to rest against the wall behind him. He hears Stan sigh, then leave the room, probably to get an ice pack or something. Good ol’ Stan.

By the time Stan comes back—yes, with an ice pack—Richie’s already on his second cigarette. If he were in a little less pain, Richie would probably find that weird, but as it is, he accepts the pack gratefully, and rests it on his skin with a hiss. 

They sit in silence for a bit, Stan eventually stealing a cigarette from Richie, which only happens when he’s feeling particularly stressed. It makes Richie want to smile, and if he hurt less he’d probably say something like “_aaaw Stanny, are you worried about lil’ old me?_”

As it is, he hurts a _lot_ actually, so he stays quiet, and offers Stan his lighter. 

A few minutes later, there’s the thundering sound of footsteps on the stairway outside Stan’s bedroom, and then a flurry of panicked Eddie is storming into the bedroom. Almost instantly, his eyes zero in on Richie, and then he’s all determined as he marches across the room.

“Have you cleaned any of those yet?” Richie shrugs one shoulder, and Eddie huffs. “Fuck, of _course_ you haven’t, come on.” He grabs Richie’s hand, and begins pulling him gently towards the bathroom. And well, it’s not like Richie can say _no_ to Eddie, so he goes.

Behind him, he thinks he hears Stan mutter something that sounds like _of course_ but he can’t be sure.

Once they’re in the bathroom, Eddie points to the closed toilet. “Sit.”

Richie sighs. “Eds I’m all dirty and gross, you don’t have to.” 

Eddie glares at him, arms crossed. “No I don’t _have to_, but you have to sit.”

Richie snorts, and crosses his own arms, staring down at Eddie (because that’s a thing he can do now). “Oh yeah? You gonna make me short stuff?”

He’s not sure how Eddie’s going to react, but what he _isn’t _expecting, is for Eddie to uncross his arms, and grab for one of Richie’s hands with one of his own. 

“Please Rich just let me? I…” He gives Richie a pleading look; his eyes wide and his lower lip stuck out. “I don't like seeing you hurt.”

Richie lets out a sigh, and all of the fight seems to leave him as he whispers back a soft, “Okay.” He sits, then, and Eddie gets to work.

Up until now, Richie hadn’t thought about his injuries enough to try and dissect exactly _where _they were, but now, as his split lip stings and the cut on his forehead burns while they’re cleaned, he knows where each and every one is. 

Eddie’s quiet as he works, and incredibly serious like he always is when faced with anything like this. Richie feels himself smiling, and Eddie shakes his head. “What the fuck are you smiling about, you lunatic?”

Richie huffs out a quiet laugh, and brings a hand up to curl his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. “Was just thinking about how fuckin’ cute you are, Doctor K.”

Eddie’s cheeks darken as he switches out a damp rag for a dry one. “Shut up Richie.”

For once, Richie listens, and lets Eddie finish cleaning him up without any further heckling. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks just having Eddie’s hands on him is enough to make him forget about any injury he may have entirely.

While they were busy, the rest of the Losers apparently made their way over as well, because when Richie and Eddie finally exit the bathroom, they find their friends congregated in Stan’s bedroom. Bev and Mike are lounging on his bed, Stan’s still sitting by the window joined by Bill, and Ben’s seated up on top of the dresser. 

They all give Richie a once over when they see him, and Ben shakes his head. “Rich…”

Richie holds up his hands, and gives them a smirk, even though it makes his lip sting like a _motherfucker_. “Great news guys, I’m not gonna die!”

Stan gives him an unimpressed look, and scoffs. “You might not be, but someone’s going to.”

Bill nods, and glances at Stan briefly before looking back at Richie. “He’s right, you just have to tell us who did this.”

Richie sighs. “Sutland and his asshole friends cornered me in front of the arcade.” For a moment, he hears their voices echoing in his head (_worthless, fucking fag, freak_), then he shakes his head, shrugging. “I wasn’t paying attention like I usually am, so it’s my own stupid fault.”

Immediately, all of the Losers start protesting. Beside him, Eddie lightly smacks his arm. “Shut the hell up, _they’re_ stupid, and they’re gonna fucking pay, right guys?”

“Hell yeah, don’t worry about it Trashmouth,” Mike says, getting up to come pull Richie into a hug. “We’ll take care of it.”

Richie’s about to make a witty comeback, anything to make the moment less serious than it is, but before he can, Eddie’s throwing his arms around him too. Then, the rest of the Losers are joining in, and all Richie can do is choke out a quiet “thanks guys” as he tries to keep himself from crying.

If it weren’t for the tight grip he’s able to keep on Eddie’s shirt, he probably _would_ be crying, he thinks.

They stay huddled together for a few minutes, taking in the comforting feeling of all of them just being there, before eventually starting to break off. If any of them notice Richie trying to stealthily reach behind his glasses to wipe away the wetness that had built up in his eyes, none of them comment, and instead, Ben suggests they all watch a movie.

An hour later, they’re all cuddled up in Stan’s basement, Wayne’s World playing on the TV and popcorn bowls piled haphazardly on any relatively flat surface they could find. 

As the movie goes on, the rest of the Losers begin to drop off to sleep, one by one, until it’s just Richie and Eddie left awake, conversing quietly where they’re curled up in the corner of the couch and completely ignoring the movie. Eddie’s practically in Richie’s lap, their legs tangled together and their body’s angled so they can still look at each other. Richie’s just laughed at something Eddie’s said, his lip beginning to bleed a little again.

Eddie just sighs, and reaches up to wipe it away. He looks upset again, and not about the blood now on his finger. “Does it still hurt?”

Richie just rubs his arm comfortingly, and gives him a smile as he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine Spaghetti, I wouldn’t have even noticed.”

Eddie look skeptical, but drops it, sighing again. “At least you won’t have to put up with this stupd town’s bullshit much longer.”

Richie’s thumb, which had been absentmindedly rubbing circles into Eddie’s arm, freezes, and he gives Eddie a confused look. “What?”

Eddie shrugs. “Well, Bill and Stan are leaving soon so you will be too right?” When Richie just continues to looks confused, Eddie huffs. “You know, for _college_? I know you haven’t talked to me about it or anything and I—it’s fine but I’m not stupid so I know you’ll have to leave soon and I’m just saying—”

Richie’s shaking his head now, still looking perplexed. “Wait, you think I’m _leaving_?” He’s speaking slightly louder than they have been up until now, and seems to realize it, because he glances around at the others to make sure they haven’t woken up before turning his attention back to Eddie.

Eddie blinks. “Uh. Yeah? You’ve wanted to leave since we were like, fourteen man, of course I think—”

Before Eddie can finish speaking, Richie stands abruptly; grabbing Eddie’s arm gently and pulling him up with him and out of the room. Then, he keeps pulling him, until they’re up in Stan’s room, the door closed firmly behind them. Richie flicks the light on, then turns to face Eddie.

“Eds, I got a job.”

Now, Eddie’s the one who looks confused. “Yes? And?”

Richie waves his hands around. “Why the fuck do you think I got a job _here_?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know! You realized you need gas money or something and you have really fucking bad timing?”

Richie just stares at him a moment, dumbfounded. “Eddie. I told my boss I’d be around until the end of _next summer_.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open. He blinks. “Wait. Really?”

Richie laughs softly, slightly disbelieving. “Of _course_. I’m not gonna just leave you alone with your psycho mom.”

His smile widens as Eddie’s cheeks redden, and he just stares at Richie. “Oh.”

“Yeah _oh_.” Richie snorts. “Can’t believe you thought I’d fucking leave you without even saying anything.” Eddie sniffs, then, his eyes beginning to well up with tears, and Richie grabs him immediately and pulls him into a hug. “Woah, hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Eddie nods into his shoulder and clings to him, sniffing again. “Yeah I’m fine, I’ve just maybe been kind of worrying about this for fucking _months_ already and I didn’t know how to bring it up because you weren’t saying anything, and it was _stupid_ but I just…”

He trails off, and Richie shushes him, holding him tighter. “Eds I _swear _I’m never going to leave you, okay? It’ll take a whole fucking lot more than this stupid town to make me do that, you got that?” He moves back a little, so he can look at Eddie, and smiles at him as he gestures towards his face. “Besides, what would I do without my Doctor K. to patch me up when I’m injured?”

Eddie giggles, and wipes at his eyes with the heel of one hand. “Go to a hospital, hopefully.”

Richie just laughs, and pulls Eddie in for another hug. “Oh Eddie, we both know that’d _never_ happen.”

Richie holds Eddie until his tears dry, then they head back downstairs where luckily the rest of the Losers are still asleep. They get comfortable again, and less than ten minutes later they also fall asleep.

Four days later, Benjamin Sutland is declared missing with his body nowhere to be found.

(Stan looks awfully pleased with himself when he finds out, and Richie pulls him into a hug, despite being _beep’d_ the whole damn time.)

-

_1994_

Winter in Derry, Richie thinks, is quite possibly the worst.

Up until now, he’s never really thought much of it, since he’s always had school to keep him occupied during the long and boring day after endless day of near freezing temperatures. Now that he’s an _adult_ though, he has a job that involves loading trucks even when it’s snowing and windy and hellish outside, with none of his friends around to taunt and keep his spirits up.

Even though he still sees Mike, Ben, and Eddie nearly every day, they’re busy with homework (“_because not everybody is a fucking genius Trashmouth_” Eddie always says when Richie complains) and Richie’s too tired to do anything _fun_ anyway. So, even with their weekly phone calls with the rest of the Losers, and Friday night movies, winter drags on.

The only chance for something _different_ comes once in the middle of February, when some dickbag decides one night to use Mike as his own personal punching bag.

Richie and Ben take care of it over the weekend—yes, because Richie _works_—and then it’s right back to normal.

Finally though, the snow begins to melt into the river, the grass begins to green again, and before they know it, Bev, Stan, and Bill are all back to watch the rest of the Losers graduate high school.

It’s good to have the gang back together in Derry, just one last time before they all leave to start new chapters in their lives, and hopefully never see that stupid fucking town again.

The thing is, though, Richie doesn’t want to start that new chapter without telling Eddie about his Feelings. Capital F, yes.

He doesn’t want Eddie to get to college, meet someone, and get swept off his feet all while Richie stands by and _watches_, because he was too chicken shit to say anything while he had the chance. With the end of summer coming much quicker than the beginning had come, and the day that Richie and Eddie leave for college coming along with it, Richie knows his time is running out.

Halfway into his first week home from college, Stan’s over at Richie’s, both of them sitting on the floor and going through the records Stan had brought back from New York when he sets the stack in his hands down on the floor with a sigh, and stares at Richie.

“So why aren’t you and Eddie a thing yet?”

Richie rolls his eyes, continuing to rifle through the records, setting aside the ones he wants to listen to. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Stan scoffs, and then a balled up sock flies into Richie’s face. “You know what it means, dickbag, why the _fuck_ aren’t you two fucking? I thought you were going to actually do something about it before he graduated.”

Richie sighs, sets the last record in his hands aside, then flops backwards onto the floor. “I _was_ going to do something about it! But...I don’t know. It just never…” He waves a hand in the air, then lets it fall dramatically to the floor. “I don’t know. I’m a fucking coward.”

“Dude,” Richie can practically _hear_ Stan rolling his eyes. “You’re not a fucking coward.” Richie just huffs, and Stan huffs. “You’re _not_! You’re like, the bravest person I know.”

Richie blinks, then turns his head to look at Stan. “Really?”

“Dude, _yeah_ of course.” 

Richie stares at Stan for a moment, stunned. He sounds so fucking _earnest_, like he means it, and Richie can’t...he can’t wrap his head around it. Eventually, he scoffs, and shakes his head. “You’re full of shit, Stanley.”

Stan shakes his head. “I’m not kidding! Richie you—“ He makes a face, then sighs. “You chose to stay in this town, even with all of the shit it put you through, _for_ Eddie. Don’t you think you should tell him why?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, then Richie huffs and flops backwards onto the floor again. “Fuck you Stan, why do you always have to make _sense_?”

Stan snorts, as he pushes aside the records next to Richie, and flops down next to him. “Because I’m the best.”

Richie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you really are, mister man.” They fall into a comfortable silence then, Green Day’s newest album playing in the background. Eventually, Richie sighs. “I’ll tell him. Before we leave for California, I’m gonna tell him.”

Beside him, Stan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just reaches over and squeezes Richie’s hand. Richie grins anyway, because it says everything he needs to hear.

-

After that, Richie has every intention of pulling Eddie aside as soon as possible, and telling him, well, everything. He wants to tell him that he’s been in love with him for literal _years_ now, since before he even really _knew_ that his constant need to annoy Eddie had actually just been him desperately needing his attention. Wants to tell him about how he’d realized mere weeks before _It_, and just how terrified he’d been.

He wants to say all of this, and _more_, god, there’s always going to be more where Eddie is concerned, but fucking _life_ gets in the way.

Or, more accurately, Sonia Kaspbrack gets in the way.

With June slowly turning into July, and the day that Eddie leaves for college getting closer and closer, she suddenly becomes a teary and emotional _wreck_, and even though Eddie’s wisened up to her manipulative ways over the years, she still manages to keep him within three feet of her for _weeks_ because he _still_ can’t really tell her no. Eddie’s missed movie night at Ben’s three Fridays in a row now, it’s halfway through July, and if Richie has to hear her shrill voice over the phone yelling _Eddie honey could you come here?_ one more time, she’ll be the next to fucking disappear if he has anything to say about it.

This goes on for fucking _weeks_. The most any of the Losers are able to see of Eddie is midday while Sonia is taking her nap, and even that’s tentative, as he’s still trying to pack for college on top of it. Richie still crawls in Eddie’s bedroom window when he can, just like he has for years, but Eddie’s always so _tired_, and Richie is too, thanks to work and his own preparations to leave, so they always just wind up sleeping, curled up around each other like they’re afraid to let go.

With three weeks left until they need to leave for college—because yeah, Richie and Eddie _are_ going to the same school, which is less than an hour away from the one Bill and Stan already go to, and twenty minutes away from Bev, Ben and Mike’s—Richie’s in his room, sitting on the floor surrounded by the clothes he still has to pack, playing Atari. He’s been at it for a few hours now, switching between Breakout and Galaga every time he loses because he has the day off, he’s memorized the Pac-Man ghost’s patterns, and all of his friends are _busy_ today, so what else is he going to do? 

He’s mid-level on Galaga, when there’s the slam of the door closing from downstairs. Immediately, he’s on his feet and shutting his TV off, fully prepared to haul ass out of his window if either of his parents come stumbling towards his room.

Instead, there’s quiet footsteps, a muffled sniffling, and a desperate, _“_Richie? Are you here?”

Richie’s heart seizes, and he’s out in the hallway as fast as his long legs will carry him. Once in the hall, he’s met with the sight of Eddie, nearly at the top of the stairs. There’s a large, bleeding gash on his left cheek, a bruise on his jaw, and from what Richie can see in the darkened hallway, his knees are scraped and bleeding too.

Richie’s by his side immediately, not wanting to touch and risk hurt him worse, but not being able to keep his hands _off_, so he gently cradles his face, careful not to touch his injuries. “Eddie, _baby_, what happened?”

Eddie’s lower lip trembles, and suddenly, his eyes, which _had_ been dry, begin to fill with tears. “I—mom needed some things so I went to the store and—” he sniffs again, “—fucking Jeff Hanson was there and you _know_ he hates me, has for years and I was alone today so he—he said some shit about my mom and-and _you_ and my clothes and he pushed me into the _wall_ and I fell and I—” He sucks in a breath, gasps on it, like he hasn’t done since he was fifteen and still carrying that damn inhaler around.

Richie pulls him closer immediately, begins whispering comforting words, because he knows from experience that the best way to get Eddie to _calm down_ is to hold him close and remind him that he’s safe. Eventually, Eddie’s breathing evens out again, though he still looks like he’s in pain, so Richie guides him gently to his bathroom and up onto the counter so he can clean him up. He murmurs soft encouragements the entire time; tells Eddie how brave and strong he is as he cleans his scraped knees and bandages his sprained wrist.

At some point, Eddie’s less injured hand rests on Richie’s shoulder, gripping at the soft and worn fabric of his Guns N’ Roses shirt. He’s stopped crying, now just sniffling quietly every now and again, and hissing when Richie cleans a particularly nasty injury. 

When Richie finally finishes, he puts everything away and before Eddie can jump down from where he’s sitting on the counter, Richie grabs his thighs and hoists him up. Eddie gasps, his legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. 

Normally, Richie knows Eddie would protest. This time, though, he just sighs, and rests his forehead on Richie’s shoulder. When he lowers Eddie to his bed, Eddie’s grip on his shirt doesn’t falter, and he gives Richie a pleading look.

“Lay with me, please?” There’s a fluttering in Richie’s stomach, as he nods and crawls in next to Eddie, who turns to face him and rests his head on Richie’s chest once his arms are around him. They’re quiet a moment, then Eddie finds Richie’s hand with one of his own, and squeezes. “Thank you Rich.”

Richie hugs him closer, one hand coming up and beginning to gently play with Eddie’s hair. “Of course baby, I’m glad you came to me.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, his eyelids closing as he settles against Richie. “As if I’d go anywhere else, you always take care of me.”

Richie sucks in a breath. “Always, Eds, always.”

Eddie sighs, “Don’t call me that, you dick.” He sounds content, _fond_, and Richie grins.

“Okay baby, whatever you say.”

A moment later, Eddie’s asleep in Richie’s arms, just like he was meant to be there.

-

It takes a while, but eventually, Richie forces himself to leave Eddie’s side. 

He looks so _sweet_, asleep in Richie’s bed—which has happened many times before but this time feels _different_—and it’s almost enough that he doesn’t want to leave him. Then, he looks at his bandaged cheek, his bruised jaw and scraped hands again, and the anger that pulses through his veins is more than enough to pull him out of bed.

He presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead before leaving, because he can’t resist.

As he leaves the house, Richie briefly considers stopping, and calling Bill, or Stan, or literally any of the others, just so they can talk some sense into him, tell him to slow the fuck down and actually plan this shit out like they usually do. To wait until he’s got a _plan_, and someone by his side, because _sure_ he’s done this before, but never alone.

Part of Richie though, a selfish part that’s existed for _years_, is just thinking about Eddie’s injuries, thinking about his tear filled eyes, his hands shaking as Richie had cleaned him up, and it’s screaming _mine mine mine_ over and over. 

So, he goes. Alone, armed with a pocket knife and a plan that only goes as far as fucking _Jeff _up so bad that he begs for death.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on who’s asked—Derry’s still a fairly small town, so it’s pretty easy to find who you’re looking for at any given time. Richie knows that at this time of night Jeff is more than likely going to be walking home alone from one of the various bars that have popped up in the last few years, and picks a spot on the way that’s secluded and dark, but close enough to Neibolt that Richie won’t have to drag the body too terribly far once he’s finished.

Sure enough, after ten minutes or so of waiting, back against a tree as he flips his knife in the air and catches it absentmindedly, Jeff comes wandering around the curve in the road. He’s stumbling a little, but not enough to indicate that he’s _completely_ out of it, which Richie is glad for.

He wants clarity in those eyes when he realizes exactly what’s happening.

Richie watches him, as he wanders closer, and basks in the calm he feels. 

When Jeff gets close enough, Richie lets out a whistle. It’s quick, a two-tone high low, but it’s enough to make him _stop_. Richie grins, then steps out of the shadows.

“Oh Jeffrey, you look a little lost.”

Jeff squints at him a moment, then recognition crosses his features. “Tozier? The fuck ‘re you doin’ out here?” 

Richie shrugs, and flips his knife. He watches as Jeff’s eyes fall to the movement, watches his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Was waiting for you, actually.”

Jeff stares at him for a moment, then he laughs, disbelieving. “Is this about fuckin’ Kaspbrak? Because really, Tozier, I did the little fairy a favor. You think the real world’s gonna put up with him being _like that_?”

White hot _rage_ fills Richie, and it comes out in the form of a manic grin and a laugh. He twirls the knife in his fingers again, and takes a step towards Jeff. “Did you know there’s a lot of fuckin’ secrets in this stupid town, Jeff?”

He takes another step forward, and this time, Jeff takes a step back. He looks more sober now, fear more than likely overpowering the alcohol in his system. He shakes his head. “What the fuck does that mean? You’re fucked up on something man, just let me—”

He takes a step away again, and Richie steps towards him just as quickly until he’s got the point of his knife pressed to his chest and tsking as he does. “Come on Jeff, I’m trying to tell you a story. Don’t be such a fuckin’ buzzkill.” Jeff just stares up at him, eyes wide and fearful, and Richie’s _basking_ in the obvious height difference between the two of them. He smiles again. 

“Anyway. Did you know there’s a killer clown here?” He hums, then, “Well. Not _here_, it’s in Neibolt house, because that’s where shapeshifting clowns live apparently.” Jeff’s eyebrows furrow, again, and Richie waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it though, my friends and I took care of it, after it chased us around all summer a few years ago.” 

Jeff swallows, his gaze dropping to the knife pressed to his chest then back up to Richie. “Look man I don’t know what the _hell_ you’re on but if you just—”

Richie sucks in a breath, and puts more pressure on the knife. “See that’s the thing, _man_,” he spits out the word, now finally letting the anger he’s felt since Eddie stumbled, _crying_, into his home. “I’m not on anything. Unlike your disgusting ass, I’m completely sober.” He twists the knife, just a little, and grins again at the scared whimper that leaves the other man.

“That’s just fucking _scary_ though, isn’t it? Because I’m talking about a fucking demon clown, and you think I’m insane probably, but _god_—” He pushes more, following with the pressure when Jeff stumbles backwards, and he follows when the man falls to the ground, settling above him and pressing the knife to his throat when he tries to fight back. He laughs, and puts pressure on his throat. “It doesn’t matter if I’m insane, does it Jeff? Because all that matters is I spent an entire summer learning that if _I _didn’t protect the ones I love from monsters like you then no one else fucking will, capiche?”

He waits for Jeff to nod, then sighs. “I’m glad you understand, ‘cause you fucked up man. Going after Eddie Kaspbrak? _My_ Eddie? You wanna know what happened last time someone hurt him?” This time, he doesn’t wait for a response; just leans down farther, his face inches from Jeff’s as he whispers, “I fucking _killed _a demonic, shapeshifting clown. So you?” Richie laughs, “You’re fucking _nothing_.”

Jeff’s mouth opens, like he’s going to scream, but he doesn't get the chance. 

-

Richie gets home at nearly 5am, covered in blood and still riding a strong adrenaline high. His parents still aren’t home—because when _are_ they—so he’s planning on taking a shower, then smoking a joint until Eddie wakes up, because his hands are shaking as he opens the door and he knows he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

He enters his room as quietly as possible, hoping to grab a change of clothes without waking Eddie, but as soon as he opens the door, Eddie shifts, then sits up, pouting sleepily at Richie in the moonlight. 

Richie smiles, he can’t help it, and moves to stand at the foot of the bed. “Hey, how long have you been awake?”

Eddie shrugs, then brings a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. “Awhile, couldn’t fall back to sleep without you.” He pauses, his eyes flickering down to look at Richie’s clothes, then back up to his face. His mouth is parted slightly, his eyes wide, and he licks his lips slowly before speaking again. “I-I figured that’s where you went. I—” He sucks in a sharp breath, his hand fisting Richie’s blanket. “You’re covered in blood.”

Richie blinks, and looks down at his own clothing, then looks back up at Eddie. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows furrow. 

Richie shrugs. “Of course.” He feels a fresh wave of anger roll over him, and his expression darkens, even as he’s unable to tear his eyes away from Eddie. “The fucker had it coming, hurting you like that.”

Eddie whines, suddenly, and it’s loud and piercing in the otherwise quiet room. It shakes something in Richie, right to his core, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s rounding the bed and beside Eddie, one knee up on the bed and his hands coming up to cradle Eddie’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you still hurting?”

With a shuddery inhale, Eddie shakes his head as much as he can without dislodging Richie’s hands. “No I just—” He worries his lower lip briefly. “You said you’ll always take care of me.”

He says it carefully, softly, and it takes Richie a moment, but he remembers their conversation from earlier, and nods. He slides his right hand up slightly to brush a bit of Eddie’s hair out of his eyes. “Always and forever, Spaghetti, gonna give you everything you need.” He rubs lightly at a bruise that’s formed to the side of Eddie’s eye.

Eddie’s silent for a moment, then, looking like he’s a little bit desperate. “I need _you_, Richie.” He pauses, then whispers, “_please._”

Richie freezes, his heart seeming to simultaneously stop and speed up. “Are you sure? Eddie I need you to be _completely_ sure because if—if I do something you don’t—”

Eddie laughs, only sounding a little hysterical, and one of his—small, god why is he so _small_—hands comes up and grabs Richie’s shirt. “Just shut up and _kiss me_, trashmouth, please.”

Richie doesn’t need to be told twice, and moments later he has Eddie laid out under him; making the _sweetest _noises into Richie’s mouth, as he squirms and puts his hands anywhere he can reach. He whines when Richie pulls away, a pout forming on his lips, and Richie laughs even as he moves down to press kisses to his neck. 

“Richie _please_.” He whines, one hand coming up to rest in Richie’s curls. 

Richie laughs again, and props himself up so he’s looking down at Eddie. “What’s the matter?”

Eddie pouts, and tugs lightly at Richie’s hair. “Please just—”

He groans, and Richie presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re pretty when you pout Eds, but I really should go shower.” He gestures at his clothes. “Since I’m still covered in blood.”

Beneath him, Eddie’s body _jolts_, and his breathing becomes labored. Richie panics for a brief second, then Eddie says, “I don’t give a fuck.”

His voice trembles, his cheeks are _red_, and..._oh_.

Richie grins, and Eddie’s eyes widen. “Richie…”

Richie shushes him, then slides his knee up, until it’s knocking Eddie’s leg to the side, then slides the other one off the floor and onto the bed, mirroring the movement until he’s kneeling between Eddie’s spread legs. He rests a hand on Eddie’s knee, then slowly begins to move it upwards. “Are you sure about that, Eddie?”

Eddie just stares at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and Richie wants to fucking _ruin_ him.

He keeps moving his hand upwards, his other sliding underneath Eddie’s shirt to grip at his waist. 

“I think you _do_ give a fuck, Eds, don’t you?” Eddie shakes his head, almost frantically, his hands gripping the blankets at his sides so tightly his knuckles are white. Richie just laughs. “No? Are you sure? You don’t like me covered in blood, coming home to you in _my_ bed, after I’ve killed someone for you?” His hand is on Eddie’s thigh now, on top of the _stupidly short _shorts he’s wearing, and he stops. “You wouldn’t let me fuck you? Covered in someone else’s blood, my hands and my dick making you come after taking someone’s life? Because no one can fucking touch you except _me_?”

He slides his hand up again, putting pressure on Eddie’s hard cock through his shorts, feels how _wet_ he is, even through the clothing. He leans forward, his breath on Eddie’s ear and his body pressed against his. Feels Eddie’s labored breathing, his trembling. Hears his soft whines as he whispers, “I’ll do it someday, Eddie. Come home after a kill, push you up against the wall and fuck you hard, get you fucking _filthy_ and you won’t even care because you’re just that fucking desperate for it, aren’t you _baby_?”

Eddie gasps, his hips rocking up into Richie’s hand _hard_, until he lets out a loud cry and comes, hot and _wet_ underneath Richie. His hands are gripping Richie’s shoulders, his head is thrown back against the bed, and Richie moans because it’s the _hottest fucking thing _he’s ever seen in his god damn life.

After several minutes of gasping and squeezing at Richie’s skin through his bloody shirt, his body twitching randomly as he settles down, Eddie sighs, and relaxes into the bed. His eyes are closed, but they flutter open when Richie presses a soft kiss to his lips. With a soft smile, he leans up to kiss Richie back, and they spend the next few minutes lazily kissing.

Eventually, though, Richie remembers that he’s covered in another man’s blood, and pulls back, still smiling. “I really do need to go shower though, baby.”

Eddie gives him a confused look. “But don’t you want…?”

Richie kisses his cheek, then sits up. “Of course I do, _god _you have no idea, but I need to get these clothes off, okay? I’ll just take care of it in the shower.”

Eddie stares at him a moment, then sits up too, and gives Richie an innocent look. “Or...I could take care of it in the shower for you.” He rests a hand on the waistband of Richie’s jeans, and it takes everything in Richie not to pin him down so he can rut against him like a fucking _animal._

“Jesus fucking—” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, and pulls it away. “When did you get so fucking _dirty_?”

Eddie just grins at him, not even bothering to try and fight his grip, and it’s wicked and _knowing_ and Richie’s heart feels like it’s going to explode. “When you started killing anyone who touched me.”

Richie groans, and squeezes Eddie’s wrist before releasing it. “Come on, you fucking brat.”

He climbs off the bed then, rolls his eyes when Eddie laughs, and grabs his hand to pull him towards the bathroom. 

Richie gets undressed while Eddie gets the shower going, gets his clothes put in a bag and sets them off to the side. Then, because he can’t keep his hands off now that he’s allowed to really _touch_, he helps Eddie get undressed, slapping his hands away when he tries to help. “I’m gonna make it a rule, from now on I’m the only one allowed to take your clothes off.” 

Eddie just gives him an amused look. “That’s not really practical.”

The response is just...well, it’s so _Eddie_, that all Richie can do is laugh. They get in the shower, Eddie insisting on washing Richie’s hair, even though he has to reach. Richie winds up holding onto his waist as he does it; his hands wandering every so often to Eddie’s thighs, his _ass_, and anywhere else he can reach.

At some point, they wind up kissing again, Richie resting his back against the shower wall with Eddie pressed against him. Richie’s perfectly content that way, until Eddie rests a hand on his chest and pushes himself gently away. Richie’s briefly concerned, his hands pausing their movements on his body, before Eddie kisses his collarbone, looking up at him as he whispers, “Can I...do you want me on my knees?”

Richie almost dies, he’s almost positive. 

“Aren’t your knees hurt, baby? You don’t have to.” 

Eddie shrugs, and gives him a determined look. “They’re not that bad, I promise.” Richie gives him a _look_, one that’s clearly calling bullshit, but Eddie sticks out his lower lip, because Richie’s never been able to say no to him when he does that. “Just want you in my mouth, please Rich?”

And yeah, Richie can’t say no to him when he looks at him like that, he _really_ can’t. “_Jesus_, okay, _fuck_, on your knees baby.”

Eddie moans, his eyes sliding closed as he falls to his knees like it’s what he was born to do. When he takes Richie’s cock into his mouth, Richie’s head falls back against the shower wall with a thump and he has to force himself not to thrust. Someday, he promises himself, _someday _he’ll fuck Eddie’s mouth until he’s choking and crying, but today he lets him take it at his own pace.

Apparently, Eddie is a natural at sucking cock. He’s fucking _eager_ too, every time Richie thrusts, even marginally, or pulls his hair just a _little_ too hard, Eddie moans like _he’s_ the one getting head, and it doesn’t take long for him to begin thrusting his own hips desperately because he’s hard _again_. 

Richie comes in his mouth with a long, drawn out moan, come getting on Eddie’s lips and his cheeks as well. He swallows, too, what he can, and it’s so _fucking_ hot that Richie kneels down next to him and rewards him by jacking him off until he comes again.

They kiss lazily again for a while—that’s quickly become Richie’s new favorite pastime—until Richie finally gets it together enough to rinse them both off and get out of the shower. They dry off, brush their teeth, and then head back to Richie’s bedroom to find some clothes. 

Richie stashes his ruined clothing in the back of his closet, already planning for the bonfire he’ll be inviting the rest of the Losers over for the next day. When he turns around, he sees Eddie sitting on his bed, waiting patiently for once in his life.

He’s wearing one of Richie’s shirts, a faded and threadbare _Mello Yello_ one, and it hangs on him, making him look fucking _tiny_, and Richie’s heart aches.

Feeling overwhelmed, Richie locks his door, and climbs into bed, holding Eddie as close as he possibly can. They fall asleep with their legs tangled together, Eddie’s head tucked safely under Richie’s chin, and it’s how they’ve slept for _years_ now at this point, but it’s different now, _better_.

It’s them against the world, Richie supposes, and that’s fine by him.

-

They wake up a few hours later, around eight, and laze in bed for awhile, just kissing and holding and touching and soaking up the feeling of each other.

When Eddie does leave, reluctantly, still wearing Richie’s clothing, it’s with the promise that he’ll be back later for the bonfire that Richie’s inviting all of the other Losers over for. He kisses Richie as he leaves, and Richie’s never wanted anything more than to just grab him and keep him from leaving _forever_.

Richie’s parents pull into the driveway around ten, and Richie hides in his bedroom until they leave again, his mother vaguely yelling something about being back late, so ‘don’t wait up’. He doesn’t respond verbally, but laughs quietly to himself at the idea.

As soon as he hears their vehicle leave, he calls each of the others, and invites them over for a bonfire and booze. Luckily, they’re all not busy, the perks of being friends with all of the other town outcasts, and a few hours later, with the sun setting in the horizon, the Losers begin wandering their way into Richie’s yard.

When they’re all settled in their lawn chairs—except Eddie, who has to wait for his mom to fall asleep before sneaking out—with drinks in hand, Mike nods in the direction of the fire, and the almost completely gone bag of bloodied clothing. “So, who was it this time?”

Richie sighs, and settles back in his seat, the hand holding his cigarette hanging limply off the side of his armrest. “Jeff Hanson.”

To his right, Stan laughs, and next to him, Bill whistles lowly. “Can’t say that's a surprise. The guy was a fucking dick.”

Ben snorts, “Yeah no shit. Wasn’t he the one that robbed the convenience store last month?”

Stan nods, and leans forward in his chair. “Yep, he bragged about it for days afterwards.”

The rest of the Losers shake their heads, and from her spot lying on the grass, Bev pipes up. “Hey, so who helped you Rich?”

There’s a beat of silence where nobody answers, then Richie sniffs. “Uh. I uh, did it myself, actually.”

Bev sits up so fast Richie’s sure she gave herself whiplash, and the rest of the Losers are staring at him, dumbfounded. Ben shakes his head. “Jesus christ dude, what the fuck did he even do?” 

As if on cue, Eddie comes around the corner of the house, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and still wearing Richie’s shirt from earlier. Richie’s chest _burns_.

“Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long, you know how my mom gets, she's on another one of her ‘health kicks’ so she's been trying to make me do this whole three hour sleep cycle—“ he stops, his cheeks beginning to redden when he notices that everyone’s staring at him. “Uh. guys? Everything oka—“

“Fuck, dude, your _face_.”

Bev is the one who finally says something, and it’s just then that Richie realizes that oh yeah, the others haven’t seen Eddie since The Incident. His jaw has a pretty gnarly bruise on it, along with a—fresh, no doubt from his mom—bandage on his cheek, and that’s not mentioning the multiple bruises on his neck; though _those_ are from Richie. 

Eddie averts his eyes, and brings his hand up to touch the bandage self consciously. “Oh. Yeah I uh—“

Richie clears his throat, and everyone turns their attention back to him. He nods his head towards Eddie, his expression cool, to mask the anger he feels again just thinking about it. “That’s what Jeff did.” 

He’s looking at Eddie, even as the rest of the Losers let out understanding “ooooh’s”, and gives him a little smile as he beckons him over with a hand wave. Eddie smiles back, and crosses the rest of the distance over to Richie, then flings his backpack on the ground next to his chair once he’s standing in front of him. 

Richie reaches down and puts his cigarette out in the grass next to his chair, then grabs for Eddie’s waist as soon as he’s within reach, his hands finding their new favorite spots immediately, and then manhandles Eddie onto his lap. Once he’s settled, Richie kisses the side of his neck, and whispers a quiet, “Missed you.”

Eddie sets one of his own hands on top of Richie’s, the other settled in his lap, and he tilts his head slightly as he sighs happily. “Missed you too.”

They’re broken out of their little bubble when Bill groans, “Fuck you guys! You couldn’t wait _two more weeks_!? Seriously!? I was _this close_ to winning!”

Mike throws a marshmallow at him, looking smug. “I fucking told you, man!”

Bill catches it, and tosses it in the air, catching it with his mouth before turning to glare playfully at Richie and Eddie. “When _did_ you assholes finally get your shit together?”

Richie sits back with a grin. “Last night actually, I figured it was time for me to move on from his mom.”

From his spot on Richie’s lap, Eddie huffs, even as he curls up closer to Richie. “Shut the fuck up Richie.”

Richie shrugs one shoulder. “How ‘bout you make me, baby?”

Eddie’s cheeks are beginning to flush a little, but before he can reply, a marshmallow hits him in the cheek. He freezes a moment, then, completely forgetting what he’d been about to say to Richie, his eyebrows furrow (_cute cute cute_) and he turns to give Bev—the culprit—an earful.

And well, Richie knows how to pick his battles, so he settles back, and resigns himself to at _least_ half an hour of this. 

Over the top of Eddie’s head, he makes eye contact with Stan. Stan’s grinning, looking _proud_, and Richie feels his cheeks redden as his own smile widens. Unable to contain himself, he presses a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. The action makes Eddie attempt to shift closer to him, and Richie could almost die with the feeling of content happiness that washes over him.

-

_1995_

Being in college is a relief.

When Eddie had said Richie’s wanted to leave Derry since he was fourteen, he hadn’t been far off. Richie’s wanted to leave that stupid town since he was thirteen and being chased out of one of his only safe havens by Henry Bowers. Since a fucking _clown_ taunted him for being in love with another boy. As if it was a _bad thing_.

So yeah, being in college, with Eddie as his fucking _roommate_ is the best thing to ever happen to Richie, after Eddie in general of course.

The Losers even manage to collectively go until January without any issues that might require them getting their hands dirty, which, as Eddie says when they manage to reach Christmas, is a miracle.

Then, Mike lets it slip during their weekly Losers phonecall that there’s some guy on his campus giving him trouble about everything from his skin color to his height to his major. The rest of the Losers are ready to fix it _immediately_, but Mike _insists_ it’s fine, he can handle a little bit of taunting. 

Two weeks later, Mike calls Bill at two in the morning, saying he’s changed his mind, and he does need their help. Since Bill and Stan are the two closest to him, they take care of the problem.

Afterwards, Stan calls Richie, still hyped up on adrenaline from the kill and speaking animatedly in a way that’s usually reserved for his photography. As they talk, Eddie lays on top of Richie, his head resting on his chest and so abnormally quiet that Richie thinks he’s fallen asleep. When he finally hangs up though, after nearly an hour of he and Stan fighting past yawns, Eddie shifts a little, and turns his head so Richie can see his eyes are wide open, and he looks far from sleep.

Richie gives him a little smile, and brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. “Hey baby, thought you were sleeping.”

Eddie sighs, and shakes his head. “No, was just thinking.”

“Hmm, what about?”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. “I—next time there’s an...issue, I want to help.”

Richie blinks, and the hand that had been playing gently with Eddie’s hair freezes. “What?”

Cheeks reddening slightly, Eddie nods. “I want to help with...with killing someone next time.”

It takes a second, but Richie starts playing with Eddie’s hair again. He gives Eddie a considering look, though can’t help the pride he feels beginning to bubble up in his chest. “Where’s this coming from Eds? You know you don’t have to right? None of us mind.”

“I know that,” Eddie frowns. “I just. I want to _help_, and I—” He pauses, his cheeks reddening even more when he continues quietly. “I like when you come home and you’re covered in—in blood and I think I want to be _there_ when it happens next time because _yeah_ that would bother me normally but if you were there I think it’d be okay and—and maybe even kind of hot so I think next time if—”

Richie kisses him. Tangles his fingers in Eddie’s messy hair and pulls him in so he can kiss him _breathless_. Usually, it’s the other way around; Richie rambling endlessly about something inconsequential and Eddie pulling him into a kiss to get him to _shut up_.

It's like being beep’d at, but _much_ more pleasurable.

They kiss for a while, and Richie winds up against the headboard with Eddie now sitting up in his lap. When they do pull away eventually, it’s only barely, their foreheads touching as they catch their breath.

Richie, panting, grins as he rests a hand on Eddie’s neck, taking note of the little shiver that runs through Eddie when he does. “Sweetheart, are you absolutely positive that’s something you want to do?”

Eddie sucks in a breath, and nods. “Yes I’m sure, as long as you’re there with me, touching me, and telling me what to do...” Richie gasps, a jolt running through him as he pulls back so he can look at Eddie properly. 

Eddie’s biting his lip, eyes wide, and Richie almost _dies_.

“Fuck baby, you really want that?” He waits for Eddie’s tentative nod, then groans. “Jesus, _fuck_ Eddie, baby you’re gonna be so good for me won’t you? Going to do everything I tell you to?” 

Eddie nods, his fingers twitching in his grip on Richie’s bicep. “Yes, _yes_ I will, I want that, _please,_ Richie”

Richie sucks in a harsh breath, the hand on the side of Eddie’s neck tightening. “Oh baby, of course.” He smiles at Eddie then, pleased with his flushed cheeks and his bitten-red lips. “Suck my cock honey.” 

Eddie whimpers, shuts his eyes and swallows, then takes a deep breath before opening his eyes and nodding. “Yes Richie.” 

He moves then, scrambles down and off of Richie’s legs so he can kneel between them and tug his sweatpants down. He’s jittery yet, a little nervous even though he’s done this _plenty_, and Richie feels a rush of _power_ like he’s never felt before.

That rush only strengthens, when he grips Eddie’s hair, and instead of letting him start out at his own pace like he usually does, he holds him in place and pushes his cock into his open and waiting mouth like it’s what his baby’s sweet little mouth is _for_. Which, _there’s_ an idea.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking good sweetheart, just gonna sit there and take it aren’t you? You’re fucking made for this, made to just take my cock baby.” 

Eddie _whimpers_, his fingers clutching Richie’s sweatpants a little tighter and his cheeks _flushing_. Richie grins, cants his hips up sharply, and absolutely savors the way Eddie’s eyes water as he tries to fight his gag reflex.

“What’s the matter honey? Is it too much?” Eddie whines, his eyes wide as he looks up at Richie. Richie pulls his hair, and thrusts up again. “Oh of course it’s not, is it baby? You’re such a little _slut_, this is nothing to you, right? You want me to fuck your little mouth until you can’t breathe, until you’re a fucked out, crying _mess_ don’t you?”

Eddie half whimpers, half _sobs_ around Richie’s dick, his hips rocking and his eyes squeezing shut as tears move down his cheeks. He looks fucking gorgeous, and Richie can’t help how his grip loosens momentarily so he can softly stroke his hair back and out of his eyes.

Eddie leans into it, as much as he can while still sucking Richie’s cock like he’s starving, and Richie groans. “Look at you, Eds, you’re so desperate for it aren’t you?” Eddie hums, agreeing easily, and Richie feels a new rush of pleasure run through him, because _yeah_, his baby’s desperate for anything Richie’ll give him.

“God yeah you are, you love it so much, such a slut. I bet I could tell you you’re not coming tonight and you’d still be happy, just ‘cuz I let you suck my cock, wouldn’t you?” 

Eddie _moans_, his eyes fluttering shut and his body falling lax, and Richie thinks, _oh_. He reaches out, pets at Eddie’s hair as he thrusts his hips up again. “That sounds like a good idea doesn’t it Eds? You like that?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer, just uses his grip to pull Eddie down even farther. “Well it doesn’t matter, because whether you like it or not that’s what’s happening tonight.”

Eddie’s eyes fly open, tears leaking from the corners as he gives Richie a _look_, one that clearly says he wants it just as much as he really doesn’t, and Richie grins. “That’s right sweetheart, you’re gonna suck my cock until _I_ come, and you’re gonna enjoy every fucking second of it, but you’re not coming.” Eddie whimpers, his eyes sliding shut, and his left hand squeezes at Richie’s thigh.

Richie grins, because that squeezes means _yes Richie, whatever you want Richie_, and he throws his own head back in a groan as he starts fucking up into his baby, using him until he’s coming, hot and _hard_ into his mouth.

When he’s done, he falls back against the bed, panting and sweaty and exhausted. His cock is still in Eddie’s mouth, because Eddie’s a _good boy_ and won’t move until he has permission, and he hasn’t come either. Richie smiles, and after a moment of admiring him, he runs his fingers gently through Eddie’s hair, then taps his cheek. “Baby, that’s enough.”

Eddie whines, then slowly pulls away. He sits up, his body lethargic, then finally blinks his eyes open. He’s spaced out, not fully _under_ like he gets sometimes, but definitely not all _here_ either, and Richie coos at him and maneuvers him until he’s laid out on his back, with Richie draped half over him protectively. 

He likes that, Richie knows; likes to feel _small_. Whenever he says it, usually when he’s drunk on Richie’s dick with no filter, Richie laughs and says “you _are_ small Eds” and wraps a large hand around his neck to prove it. 

Now, Eddie’s cock is still hard, but he’s good, always _so_ good, and won’t touch it until Richie gives him permission, and he’s slowly drifting off to sleep. Richie plays with his hair, and whispers whatever nonsense comes to mind to lull him to sleep.

It’s effective, as always, and mere minutes later, Eddie’s fast asleep. Soon after, Richie falls asleep too, and they don’t move for the rest of the night.

Eddie’s opportunity comes less than six months later. 

As the only three Losers going to school in LA, Bill has invited Richie and Eddie out for dinner (which, in college student speak means they’re having pizza near campus) to break the news about his first official book deal. He’s rambling excitedly about it, enough that he's beginning to stutter over some of his words, and Richie and Eddie are content to just listen to him be genuinely _happy_ for once.

Because they’re them though, always attracting some kind of trouble, they happen to be sitting a table away from the resident douchebag, who picks up on Bill’s stutter _immediately_.

Both Richie and Eddie are ready to throw punches right then and there, but somehow, Bill manages to get them both out the door and back to his dorm with no incident. They’re both absolutely _seething_ though, and as soon as the door closes behind them, Eddie’s giving Bill a _no arguments_ kind of look.

“We’re killing him.”

Bill sighs. “Eddie it’s fine, I’ve been dealing with him since my first year, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Richie scoffs, and moves to stand behind Eddie. “Like _hell_ it’s fine. One of us has a problem, we _take care of it_, that’s how it fucking works Bill.”

Bill stares at them a moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between each of their stubborn faces a few times, before he finally shakes his head, a fond smile beginning to work its way onto his face. “Okay, _okay_, god I can never win with you two can I?”

Eddie’s face lights up with a pleased grin, and Richie laughs as he heads in the direction of the kitchen, patting Bill on the shoulder once as he does. “We’ll call the others later and discuss the details Big Bill! Eds, get the movie picked out!”

Behind him, he hears Eddie let out a sigh. “Don't fucking call me that, and grab beers for me and Bill too you asshole!”

-

As can be predicted at this point, the rest of the Losers give the okay for the kill immediately.

“Seriously Bill, I’m sorry about that fuckhead but I hope you guys had a good rest of the night anyway.”

Richie grins, and leans over so he’s directly over the phone that’s sitting on the table in the middle of Eddie, Bill, and himself. “Oh don’t worry about that miss Ringwald, me and Eds here took _very_ good care of old Billy here.” He turns and winks at Bill, who’s shaking his head but looking amused anyway, then turns back to the phone. “Oh yeah, sorry you missed it Homeschool, we’ll make sure we can have a proper orgy next time.”

On the other end, Stan groans as Ben goes into a fit of laughter, and Richie turns to give Eddie a pleased grin. Eddie’s glaring at him, of course, and Richie _has_ to press a kiss to his nose for it. Eddie swats him away, as Mike chuckles. “Thanks Rich, I appreciate it.”

He’s joking, but Richie also knows there’s an underlying truth to it, an _actual_ thank you for being with his boyfriend when he himself can’t be. Richie loves his friends, he really does.

Ben pipes up then, “So, who’s going to do it then? You and Bill, Rich?” 

Richie and Bill both look at Eddie then, who’s looking back at Richie, eyes wide. Richie gives him an encouraging smile, and nods towards the phone. “You wanna tell them baby?”

Eddie nods, gives Richie his own smile, then looks at the phone before clearing his throat. “Uh, actually guys. I think I’m gonna help this time.” 

Over the phone comes a chorus of cheers and encouragement, which makes Eddie turn a _really fucking pretty _shade of red. He looks pleased, the smile on his face growing as Richie presses another kiss to his face, this time to his cheek.

“So Richie, you gonna need any help showing him the ropes?” Stan asks, and Richie feels an instant flash of irrational anger. 

“Fuck off, I’ve got it.”

Instead of getting pissed, Stan laughs. “Okay, have fun you greedy bitch.”

Richie pouts, even as the conversation moves on to another topic, and Eddie presses a kiss to his lips, giggling and moving so he’s in his lap as he does. He moves so his lips are by Richie’s ear then. 

“Don’t worry Richie, I don’t want anyone there but you anyway.”

Richie grins, his hands squeezing once, possessively at Eddie’s ass, then moving back up to rest on his hips. “Yeah?”

Eddie nods, a matching smile on his own face. “Of course, I’m all yours.”

Richie groans softly. “Fuck, later baby, okay?”

Eddie pouts, and wiggles just slightly in Richie’s lap. “You promise?”

God, Richie’s created a horny _monster_. He squeezes at Eddie’s hips, stilling him. Before he can reply, Bill clears his throat. “Beep _fucking_ beep Richie.”

Richie gives him an incredulous look. “What the fuck? Why am _I_ the only one getting beep’d?”

Above him, Eddie laughs, and Bill just glares at him. “Because if it weren’t for you, Eddie wouldn’t be _like this_.”

Before he can protest (because Eddie is _just_ as bad as him, if not worse sometimes), Stan asks if any of them had watched last week’s episode of Friends, and almost immediately, the group’s collective attention is shifted. 

Richie sighs, and sits back in his chair. Eddie shifts with him, and Richie’s hands move automatically up to their designated places on his waist. Eddie hums happily as he leans back against his chest, and Richie’s heart could burst because he loves him _so fucking much_.

He presses a kiss to the back of Eddie’s neck, smiling a little when he knows he has his attention. “Hey,” he presses another kiss to his neck, then moves so Eddie will hear him, even as he softly whispers, “love you.”

Eddie smiles, wide and obviously _pleased_, and he brings a hand back to run it through Richie’s hair. He doesn’t say it back this time, but his gentle touch and the way he sighs happily...well, Richie figures he knows well enough what that means.

-

Eddie’s hands are shaking noticeably, Richie’s knife clutched in one as he twists the fingers of the other around the chain of the necklace he's wearing. In front of him, Richie’s tying up the last couple knots that are holding their target where they want him. When he’s finally happy with them, he straightens up and turns to face Eddie.

He’s _beyond _excited, though he’s trying to appear calm for Eddie’s sake, and manages to keep the grin off his face as he pulls him close, hands tight around his waist.

“How’re you feeling baby? Ready?”

Eddie sucks in a breath, and nods. “Yeah I think so.”

One of Richie’s hands moves to wrap around the handle of his knife. His big hand covers Eddie’s, and after a deep breath, his trembling finally stops. Richie kisses his forehead then, his free hand cradling the back of Eddie’s head, before he steps away and goes to lean against the wall across from where the man his baby is about to _kill_ is sitting. An excited shiver runs down Richie’s spine just from the thought.

With one last glance at Richie, Eddie walks over to the chair, taking his time like he’s calculating every step. The man in the chair is staring at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between his face and the knife in his hand, like he’s not sure which he needs to keep track of more.

Richie sympathizes. 

Eddie seems content to take his time, circling slowly around the chair, before finally stopping in front of the guy again. He fidgets with the knife, then cocks his head. “Do you remember me?”

Richie brings a hand up to his mouth stifle his laugh, because of _course_ Eddie would ask a gagged man a question.

The guy’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. Eddie tsks.

“That’s such a shame, because I remember _you_. That’s why you’re here, actually. Because you were a fucking _dick_ to one of my friends.” 

The man tries to talk, the sound muffled and _annoying_ through the cloth in his mouth, and Eddie huffs. “Oh shut the fuck up, I’ve heard enough from you.” He raises the knife, his grip tightening, and then he plunges it down and into the man’s thigh.

It slides in easily, like fucking _butter_, and the sound of the man’s screams fade out because Eddie turns to face Richie, his eyes wide with _glee_ and clearly excited, and Richie sucks in a sharp breath. “How are you feeling baby?”

Eddie inhales quickly, then lets the breath out slowly. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes wide with _excitement_, and he looks...the same as he does when Richie’s fucking him, and Richie’s dick _throbs_. Eddie licks his lips. “Feels good Rich,” He glances back at the man behind him, takes in his labored breathing and sweaty forehead, then turns back to Richie. “what should I do next?”

Richie feels an excited jolt in the pit of his stomach, a grin forming on his face as he moves his gaze from Eddie to the guy behind him. His eyes are open again, and he’s staring back at Richie, pure fear written all over his expression, and Richie can’t possibly stay away any longer. 

He crosses the room, his hands resting on Eddie’s sides so he can turn him around to face their victim again. Eddie goes easily, always so pliant for Richie, and Richie winks at the guy, then kisses Eddie’s cheek.

“I think, since he thought it was so funny that Bill has a stutter, you should cut his tongue out baby.”

The man’s eyes widen in recognition, probably only _just_ realizing why he’s there, and Eddie hums as he nods. “You’re right,” His left hand falls to rest on Richie’s on his waist, and he squeezes it. “Stay by me?”

Richie groans, and squeezes Eddie’s hips, smiling when Eddie lets out a tiny whimper. “Of course baby, gonna be right here the whole time.”

Eddie sighs contentedly, then, with a little smile, grabs the knife that’s still lodged in the guy’s leg, and _pulls_. 

Their victim _screams_, and Richie doesn’t think he’s ever felt more satisfied in his whole life.

-

What must be hours later, well after their victim finally lost consciousness, Eddie finally finishes the job. He slits his throat, his hands and forearms _covered_ in blood.

Richie rubs his sides under his shirt, and squeezes comfortingly when he realizes Eddie’s hands are _trembling_. “Baby, you’re shaking, what’s wrong?”

Eddie whines, the knife clattering to the floor as one of his bloodied hands comes up to grab the back of Richie’s neck. “_Please_,” he whimpers, “need you to touch me.”

Richie moans, a shiver running through his body when Eddie tugs at his hair. “Yeah Eds, gonna fuckin’ touch you. You were so good for me, did everything I told you to.” He slides a hand down, under the loose waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants, and lightly moves his fingertips over his hard dick. “You’re so pretty sweetheart, covered in blood, ready to fall apart for me.” He turns his head, so he’s breathing, hot and wet right by Eddie’s ear. “You’re going to come for me, baby boy, I’m going to touch you and you’re going to come just like that, and then we’ll go back home and I’m gonna fuck you until you’re crying.”

Eddie’s breath is hitching, like he’s about to start crying right now anyway, but he nods and rocks his hips back. “Yes, yes, Rich—baby I need to…whatever you say, please just—” He breaks off with a whine, his back arching slightly, and Richie shushes him.

“You’re okay baby, so fucking good for me always, always making me so happy…” He trails off, just as he moves his hand to wrap around Eddie’s cock. He’s _soaked_, has probably been hard since Richie made him blow him earlier before they left their apartment, and it takes barely a minute for him to cry out, his body writhing in Richie’s arms before finally going pliant. Luckily, Richie’s always been able to hold Eddie, and he’s able to easily support his body as he comes down. 

He gives it a few minutes, telling his baby just how fucking _good_ he is, how beautiful he is, the entire time, then guides him over to the shower in the corner of the room to clean them both up before they head back home. 

Richie’ll worry about the body later, but for now, his Eddie is the only thing on his mind.

He gets them both cleaned up, his hands on Eddie’s body getting both of them keyed up again, and then they leave. Eddie clings to him the whole way home, a little quieter than usual but still with it enough to scoff and pull Richie in for a kiss when Richie asks if he’d rather sleep than have sex.

Later, _much_ later, once they’re home and in bed, wrapped around each other after Richie’s followed through on his promise to make Eddie cry, he kisses his forehead, and asks how it was.

Eddie kisses Richie’s nose, and smiles as he tells Richie that he’s never felt more clean, more _pure_ in his entire life.

As Eddie falls asleep, cradled in Richie’s arms and looking like an angel, Richie finds he has to agree.

-

_1998_

After Eddie’s first time, the Losers manage to go without incident until a few months after Bill and Stan have graduated. Bill’s first book gets published, becomes a _best seller_, and Stan gets hired by a nature magazine as a nature photographer. 

Richie’s still a year from graduating, but he’s already got a couple of radio stations willing to hire him as soon as he graduates, because he’s just _that_ infuriatingly good at it. Eddie’s got three years down of the extensive schooling it takes to become an RN, but he loves it, so it never feels as exhausting as it is unless Richie also happens to be extremely busy, and they can’t get their quality _alone_ time in.

Ben’s well on his way to becoming a successful architect, Mike’s going to be a vet, and Bev’s beginning to get her name out there in the fashion world. 

Her second year of college, Bev began dating a guy she met in one of her classes. His name is Tom, and even though she seems to like him a lot, none of the Losers are a fan of him, for various reasons that really, all boil down to ‘he’s not Ben.”

Halfway through her third year of school though, Bev calls Richie at two in the morning, and tells him he hit her.

She’s not crying, doesn’t sound _scared_ or anything, and Richie feels anger well up inside him so fast it almost makes him dizzy. She’s going to kill him, she says, and it takes a bit, but Richie eventually convinces her to agree to wait for someone else to get there and help her.

As soon as she hangs up, Richie calls Bill and Ben. Bill gets angry, reflecting exactly how Richie feels. Ben, though, is chillingly calm, in a way that scares even Richie. Two hours later they’re both on red-eye flights out to Chicago, to take care of their girl.

Later, when the three of them get Stan, Mike, Richie, and Eddie on a group phonecall to tell them what happened, they detail how Bev sat back and watched as Bill and Ben had their fun.

Bev killed him though, Ben says, his voice proud and thick with poorly concealed adoration, like always. 

They _finally_ get together two weeks later, much to the rest of the Losers’ relief. 

-

After that, their lives seem to fly by. 

Bev and Ben get married, Bill and Mike move in together the year after Mike graduates, Richie and Eddie settle down in LA, and Stan meets a sweet girl named Patty through work who he marries just a year later. They all live close enough that they see each other often enough, with the entire group getting together for most holidays in between. 

They’re happy, which is something none of them had even _dared_ to hope for when they were younger.

-

_2016_

Richie’s just gotten offstage when Bill calls.

He’s in Dallas, just finished show two out of three, because comedy is a thing he does now. When he’d first decided to give it a shot, after _years_ of encouragement from his boss and coworkers at the radio station, as well as from his friends, and most importantly, Eddie, he’d decided to give it a shot. Ten years and three pretty successful tours later, he should probably admit they were all right.

The phonecall comes as soon as he’s stepped offstage, and, because that’s usually _Eddie’s_ thing when he can’t be there physically to support Richie, he answers with, “Hey baby, you wearing something sexy for me?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Bill sighs. “Buy me dinner first, then _maybe_ I’ll put on my silk nightgown for you.”

Richie laughs, and flops down onto the couch in his dressing room. Fuck, talking makes him tired, he _must_ be getting old.

“Jesus okay Big Bill I’ll keep that in mind, you sure Mike’s okay with it?”

Bill snorts. “Yeah, sure, just as okay with it as Eddie is.”

“Touche.” They both laugh, and Richie sighs. “Alright, out with it, what’s happening?”

Bill’s quiet a moment, then, “It’s back.”

Richie blinks. “Well shit. Has it been twenty seven years already?”

“Yeah man, I think we’re getting old.”

Richie groans. “Jesus, don’t remind me. Y’know I have to _stretch_ before going out on stage now? I don’t even fucking _do_ anything on stage Bill! I just get sore from _standing_!”

Bill scoffs. “Speak for yourself, I’m in perfect shape, thank you very much.”

“Sure, hey, Bill, you wanna try doing a cartwheel again?”

“Beep _beep _Richard.”

Richie laughs, throwing his head back to rest against the back of the couch. “Fuck man, are you sure it’s...It? Really sure?”

Bill hums an affirmative. “Yep, four deaths in the last few weeks. I just talked to Stan and he said his mom was weirdly unbothered by all of them.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.” They’re quiet a minute, the sounds of Bill doing something coming over the line, before Richie sighs. “So, when are we going back?”

“Well, the sooner the better. You have a week off from touring next week, right?”

Richie huffs. That was supposed to be his and Eddie’s _date_ _week_. And by date week, he means sex marathon. “Yeah, Eddie’s got most of the week off too. I think Bev and Ben are free too, she said something a few days ago about gardening so…” Bill laughs. “So she’s definitely free. I’ll call the skype group tonight then, and we’ll talk about it then.”

Richie nods, a weird sense of adrenaline beginning to course through him. “Sounds good, can’t _wait_.”

-

One week and two days later, the Losers Club is once again standing in front of Neibolt house.

They all take a moment to stare at it, then, glance around at each other.

Bill, from his place on the steps, just like last time, grins excitedly at them.

“Well? Are we ready?”

Bev smiles back, her hand clasped firmly in Ben’s, and looks over at Richie. “I think Richie said it best last time.”

Richie immediately knows what she’s talking about, and grins back at her. “What? You’re lucky we’re not measuring dicks?”

That gets a laugh out of the group, and Stan smacks him lightly on the arm. “Beep beep Richie, you know that’s not what she’s talking about.”

Richie laughs, looks at Eddie and grabs his hand firmly. Eddie smiles back at him, his face bloody from earlier when he’d stabbed Henry Bowers, and fucking _beautiful._

Richie looks back at Bill. “Let’s kill this fucking clown.”

**Author's Note:**

> rebloggable post [here](https://queereightiesheartthrob.tumblr.com/post/188754719895/close-your-eyes-give-into-the-night)!


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